


let your soul stand cool

by katsukifatale (TrumpetGeek)



Series: yuri!!! on zines [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, Embedded Images, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Nostalgia, Retirement, Supportive Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-12 00:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15327513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrumpetGeek/pseuds/katsukifatale
Summary: “Deep breaths,” Viktor murmurs from behind him. His voice is a soothing comfort, his hands warm where they rest on Yuuri’s waist over his white Olympic jacket – his own, not Viktor’s. He leans back into the breadth of his husband’s body and breathes deep, savoring the sharp, clean smell of the ice, the faint scent of sweat and makeup and body spray.One skater is all that stands between Yuuri and the last skate of his competitive career.





	let your soul stand cool

**Author's Note:**

> written for [yoi-yuuri-zine](http://yoi-yuuri-zine.tumblr.com), which is a yuri on ice zine that focuses on katsuki yuuri. i'm posting my work a bit early due to the fact that i'm moving abroad and will likely not have wifi for a while. please check the zine blog for the rest of the fantastic fic and art!
> 
> i was also lucky enough to commission the incredible [no2ng](http://no2ng.tumblr.com/) to draw a scene from this fic. her art is crazy good, please go check it out when she posts!

 

 

_Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes. -  Walt Whitman_

 

* * *

 

 

The arena thunders with sound – the crowd shouts and claps, the music thrums, JJ’s blades scrape across the competition-clean surface of ice. Yuuri’s peers stand at the boards, watching JJ take his turn for glory, and for once Yuuri stands with them, eyes and ears turned outward, to the ice.

 

 

World’s has always been figure skating’s greatest stage besides the Olympics, and each invitation earned was done so with sweat, pain, blood, and bruises. Yuuri used to think it a mistake – that he didn’t deserve to be there among the talent. Maybe he still does, a little. Maybe there will always be a part of him that’s surprised at the invitation.

 

 

He looks around himself and sees the beautiful costumes and made-up faces of his peers – his _friends_ , now – and at the bright, crisp lights and the joyful faces of the crowd, and closes his eyes with a smile.

 

 

 

 

 

“Deep breaths,” Viktor murmurs from behind him. His voice is a soothing comfort, his hands warm where they rest on Yuuri’s waist over his white Olympic jacket – his own, not Viktor’s. He leans back into the breadth of his husband’s body and breathes deep, savoring the sharp, clean smell of the ice, the faint scent of sweat and makeup and body spray.

 

 

One skater is all that stands between Yuuri and the last skate of his competitive career.

 

 

Retirement is a bittersweet symphony of emotions, but he’s gone through all of the ugly bitterness with Viktor already – the doubts, the fears, the sadness, banished with soft kisses and quiet support; all he has left in him is the sweet, and the overwhelming urge to take in as much of this as he can, to hold it gently in his heart.

 

 

And he does. Looking back, he doesn’t remember the crippling anxiety or the self-doubt or the whispers of not enough that plagued him even on the podium, even though he knows he experienced them at nearly every turn. Instead –

 

 

He remembers the way he’d felt the first time he’d skated, his tiny hand tight in his mother’s and his ankles wobbling like jelly. The first kiss of the ice beneath his tiny blades had been exhilarating; the second, terrifying. The surface of the ice had been pocked with the paths of blades and the divots of toe picks, and there had been people all around him, brushing past and leaving bursts of cold air in their wake. He’d spent the first lap afraid to fall and hurt himself, afraid to disappoint his mother. By his second, he’d felt more relaxed, his ankles stronger, his grip on his mother’s hand looser. By the third, he was off, leaving his mother behind, leaving bursts of cold air of his own making. He’d fallen on the fourth lap, his toe pick catching in a groove and sending him crashing to the unforgiving surface. He’d fallen, and his knees and wrists had stung and bled, but it had been so freeing to allow himself to feel it.

 

 

He remembers his first few competitions, getting off the plane with stars in his eyes and feeling alight with nerves and excitement and hope. His first international competition in Courchevel had seen him holding tight to Minako-sensei’s hand even while he strained to strike out and make his own experiences. He’d spent that time in his life chasing after that awe and wonder, at every competition, finding something new to love each time he set his blades to competition-clean ice. There had been something about the need to test himself against his peers, something about knowing that beneath the black leather of their skates hide bruised and battered feet, and yet each turn and glide and jump were so full of love and grace and dedication.

 

 

He remembers Viktor, and the steadfastness with which he’d yearned for him, to skate with him, to speak to him. Viktor had shaped so much of his life, without even knowing it; Yuuri had molded his dreams and goals to fit him, and even when it had seemed hopeless, even when he’d felt so lost he’d thought about retirement, Viktor had been the pedestal to which he’d held himself accountable. He remembers that night with Yuuko-chan in Ice Castle, remembers handing her his glasses and asking her to watch him. He remembers thinking, begging, please let me keep doing this. He remembers Viktor, naked in the hot spring (quiet on the beach, fond in the rink) offering unconditional support. “I’m going to be your coach,” he’d said. Beneath that, “I’m going to support you,” and then “I’m going to love you.”

 

 

He remembers Phichit, and Christophe, and Guang-hong and Leo and even JJ, now, calmer with age but no less bursting with personality. He remembers Yurio, and Celestino, and Yakov, and —

 

 

It’s funny how he’d thought he’d been standing on his own for so long, when he’d had all of this helping to hold him up.

 

 

“You’re doing so well,” Viktor says. His voice is a rumble against Yuuri’s shoulder blades. “God, you’re going to be amazing, zolotse.”

 

 

“Don’t call me that until I win,” Yuuri says. He opens his eyes and tilts his head up in time to see Viktor’s beautiful blue eyes crinkle in the corners in the way that Yuuri loves, his happiness written on his face as clearly as pen to paper. Viktor laughs, and it’s a cracked little sound – a little watery, a little proud. His eyes, though, are all love.

 

 

Yuuri takes off his skate guards and hands them to Viktor, who grasps them with shaking fingers.

 

 

“I’m so proud of you,” he says. JJ’s free skate comes to a riotous end, and Viktor’s words are lost in the applause, but Yuuri doesn’t need to hear them anymore to understand the sentiment on his tongue and in his eyes.

 

 

Heedless of the people and the cameras, Yuuri reaches up, strokes fingers feather-light down Viktor’s jaw, dragging him in with the gentlest of requests. Viktor kisses him like Yuuri is made of love itself, and he feels it growing and growing beneath his ribs even after they part.

 

 

The press had asked why — why retire now, why now, why not keep going, why why why. Yuuri had struggled to answer, because it’s so hard to put feelings into words even now, but it boils down to this:

 

 

Because Yuuri is so _full_ . Because there hardly feels like there’s room for anything else inside him. Because he’s achieved success, gold and silver scattered around their shared apartment. Because he’s achieved their shared apartment in the first place. Because he’s _happy_ — in his career, in his life and love with Viktor, and in himself. He’s so full with it that he can’t want for anything else, except an eternity of life and love.

 

 

Isn’t that as good a reason as any?

 

 

The announcers call his name. The crowd screams, Japanese flags wave through the stands. Beside him, Viktor kisses his own wedding ring.

 

 

Yuuri sets one blade on the ice, and then the other, and smiles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> if you liked this, you can also find me [here](http://katsukifatale.tumblr.com/) on my main blog and [here](http://trumpet-geek.tumblr.com/) on my writing blog!


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